


Tanked

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Struggling Against the Caretaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Gil’s on the way out of the precinct when Jessica bombards him, frantic about Martin’s stabbing leaking to the press. Gil tries to offer comfort, and things go downhill from there.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Struggling Against the Caretaker.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Tanked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Machancheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machancheese/gifts).



Gil’s on the way out of the precinct, heading for his car in the parking lot, when Jessica bombards him, frantic about Martin’s stabbing leaking to the press. More specifically, she’s worried Malcolm’s involvement is being dangled over their heads. Talking a mile a minute, he can’t make out half of what she’s saying.

So he wraps an arm around her to guide her away from the building, leans her into his shoulder, and kisses her forehead in the lightest brush of comfort. It may as well have been fire for the speed at which she launches away from him, halfway across the parking lot. She stares him down with a glare of ire, threatening to obliterate him with her wrath.

“What was that?” Jessica strikes, her words a trail of sparks across the space.

Gil holds his hands up shoulder height, palm out, meaning no harm. “Jessica - “

“That is _not_ welcome,” she hits again, not letting him get a word in.

“I didn’t - “

“Keep my son out of the papers,” she implores, pointing her finger at him. “You took him, _you_ deal with him.”

She turns on her heel, storming away before he can explain he didn’t mean anything by it, before he can comprehend what even happened.

* * *

“Hello Mo-“

Before Malcolm can even finish the greeting, Jessica spews, “That sonuvabitch kissed me.”

“What?” His mind scrambles to catch up - _what is she talking about?_

“Gi _l_ , your pa _l_ ,” she stretches out the l’s.

There aren’t any more pages for his mind to flip through - he’s still lost. “Mother - “

“I went to talk to him about your little problem with the papers, and he kissed me smack on the forehead, dammit!” she raises her voice, approaching shrill.

“Mother, are you okay?” She’s agitated, from the sound of sips perhaps inebriated, and he’s still not quite following exactly what happened. Her safety is his first concern.

“Of course I’m okay - I’m a Milton,” she drops to a warm tenor.

Now he needs to worry about the other half. “Where’s Gil?”

“Hell if I know. I told him to look after you and went on my way. The nerve - “ she gets riled up again.

“Mother - “

Her fuse threatens to relight, recalling the exchange in the parking lot. “He really needs to get his head on straight. How many Whitly’s does he think he can take?”

“Mother!” he snaps, and finally, he gets silence. Whatever happened, this was Gil, not some random guy to vilify. If she’s this heated, how is he? "If you’re okay, I need to go talk to Gil.”

“I’m fine, dear,” she dismisses like it’s a pointless question to ask.

“Okay, call me if that changes.” He hangs up, singed by the outburst.

* * *

Malcolm calls and texts Gil’s phone: no response. Goes by Gil’s apartment: no one. Goes back to the precinct: no sign. Starts a circuitous route of bar after bar they’ve been to with the team: nothing. Enters another where JT had teased “look, the sportsball,” to Gil sitting in a dark corner, out of the way of all the screens.

Malcolm sits beside him, the smell and Gil’s wavering hands giving away that the whiskey on the bar is just the next in several deep. Malcolm didn’t know how long it had been between the encounter and his mother calling him, and it had taken him a couple hours to find Gil. Long enough for Gil to get good and drunk.

“What are you doing here?” Gil asks, not even looking at Malcolm.

"Mother called me.” He bridges his fingers.

“To share how evil I was?” Gil takes a sip.

Malcolm rests his hand on the bar near the glass, turning into Gil. “What happened, Gil?”

Gil shakes his head, not wanting to get into it. It's a burden he doesn't need to add to the kid.

“I’m already in the middle. She was pretty angry on the phone," he shares, watching Gil's cheek and neck for the few reactions he can see.

His frown deepens in confusion, misery. “I can’t figure out why.”

“What happened?” Malcolm presses, needing to get to the root of why he’s drowning in a bar.

“Let’s get you a drink, kid,” Gil answers instead. Malcolm wonders if his own avoidance has rubbed off on him.

“I’m not drinking.” He doesn’t want to add his own intoxication into the mix. “Gil.” Malcolm puts his hand on Gil’s shoulder, finally getting a solid look into Gil’s glossy, red eyes. His lids droop a little, but he still speaks fairly coherently, Malcolm only detecting the difference because of how well he knows him.

Gil takes a swig. “Suit yourself, kid.”

“Gil, please,” Malcolm stresses, trying to get through to him.

Gil’s quiet, sipping some more, slowly taking in Malcolm’s furrowed brow, pained eyes, and the way his free hand shakes against his leg. Some piece of that equation starts him talking. “She was upset about your father screwing you over. Again. I tried to guide her away to talk somewhere more private.”

“And?” He brings his hand back to his side.

“I kissed her forehead. She was panicked, I shared comfort. That’s all.” Gil holds a palm up at him in defense. At least that’s what he’d spent the past few hours reeling through in his head, always landing on not thinking he meant anything by it. Jessica was an extension of his family; it was an action he would have given any of them. He doubted himself because of the strength of her reaction.

“She was furious,” Malcolm tries to keep him talking.

“Yeah, gave me a mouthful and stormed off.” He cracks a smile that wavers into a grimace. “You know your mother.”

Malcolm had already deduced the affection caught her off guard, yet he perceives the lines in Gil’s face still hold more of the story for him. “Why’d you come here, Gil?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He turns his face to the wall, removing any chance for Malcolm to see his reaction.

“Was it something - “

“I _don’t_ want to talk about it,” Gil reinforces, an uncharacteristic harshness to his voice.

“Okay. How about we go home?” Malcolm chooses to focus on his safety instead, something he can more easily control.

“You can go. I’m good.” Glass in hand sipping again, Gil’s steadfast on not looking at him.

“Gil, this isn’t you,” Malcolm cycles back through lines Gil has used on him.

“I’m fine.”

Malcolm rests his hand on Gil’s shoulder, squeezing, getting in close so the only thing Gil can look at are his huge eyes begging him. “We should go.”

“Fine.” Gil stands, resting his hand against the wall to hold himself steady.

“Give me the keys," Malcolm demands with his hand out. He knows Gil’s car must be close by somewhere, as he hadn’t found it in the precinct parking lot. It’s the easiest way to get him home.

“No.”

“You can’t drive like this,” Malcolm argues, the simplest task feeling like a gargantuan amount of effort.

“No shit. I wouldn’t. You’re sure as hell not driving my car,” Gil barks, keeping his hand over his pocket where the keys lie.

“Keys.”

“No.”

“We’re gonna have to come back and get it tomorrow,” Malcolm shares a last-ditch attempt at logic.

“ _I_ will get it tomorrow,” Gil rebuffs, not budging on his insistence that the car will not leave under Malcolm’s direction.

Malcolm calls for a cab instead. He checks with the bartender to ensure the tab has been paid and leads Gil outside, Gil swatting away his hands the whole way.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter,” Gil seethes, pushing away Malcolm’s hands again and leaning against a lamppost while they wait for the cab.

Malcolm wonders how much it crushes Gil when Malcolm is this argumentative. Malcolm knows he’s a silly drunk until he tips very sad, but he’s awful with direction, and depending upon the drug he has taken, he expects Gil has dealt with manic bouncing to full on screaming and running from what Gil wants him to do. As unusual as the behavior is for Gil and unsettling it is for Malcolm, Malcolm is well aware Gil has dealt with much, much worse from him. It keeps Malcolm going knowing the least he owes Gil is a safe trip home.

Malcolm doesn’t talk to him, doesn’t want to set him off any more. He sees Gil home, and Gil retires to bed, not speaking either. Malcolm stretches out on the couch, listening for any signs of distress from the other room.

* * *

It’s the wee hours of the morning when Malcolm hears retching in the bathroom. He pads over to see if Gil needs any help and finds him stretched across the bathroom floor. He rests a hand on Gil’s shin, the easiest thing he can get to. “Don’t touch me - I’m fine,” Gil grouses, shaking his leg.

“I can help you up,” Malcolm offers, unsure what else to do.

“Leave me - go home,” he grumbles, his hands pressing into his head.

Malcolm retreats, fills a water glass, and collects a couple ibuprofen. Gil’s asleep on the floor when he sets the items on the bathroom counter. Malcolm returns to the couch, listening for when he may be needed.

He doesn’t sleep, only thinks about the many times he’s done this to Gil, and how awful the waiting must have been.

* * *

Malcolm calls in for both of them. Ignores Dani and JT’s texts after they learn the information from admin. Makes toast, coffee, and pours another glass of water when he hears the shower kick on mid morning.

“Hey, kid.” Gil emerges in a sweater and trousers. “We’re really late - have you seen my phone?”

“I called in. Said you had a stomach bug.” Something close to the truth.

Gil opens and closes his mouth, considering whether it was an overstep of a boundary, yet chooses not to address the statement. He rubs his forehead, still trying to get the headache to go away. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to spend the day at home. “Have you seen my phone?” he repeats.

“Yeah, here.” Malcolm hands it over from safe keeping on the coffee table so it wouldn’t wake him.

Gil continues on to the kitchen. There’s a flurry of texts from Dani and JT that Gil ignores, instead setting his phone on the counter beside the place setting. “Thanks,” Gil shares, drinking some of the water. He doesn’t want to chance the coffee or toast yet.

Gil stays at the kitchen counter, looking over to Malcolm on the couch. “So, I was kind of an ass last night.”

“A little. You could say that. No worse than me.” Malcolm smiles and laughs, looking at the floor.

“I was…am pretty angry.” But night come day took away some of the freshness of the wound.

As curious as he is, Malcolm doesn’t ask again. Waiting up all night reminded him of the several times Gil had been in his position, and how he never forced Malcolm to talk. Malcolm nods instead.

“She thinks you chose me.” Gil takes away the ire of Jessica’s exact words, leaving that between the two of them.

“I did,” Malcolm admits. It’s a simple truth. Gil’s one of the few people that helps Malcolm feel safe.

“She was livid.” Like looking out for what was best for the kid somehow meant taking him away from her. A lash that stung so deeply he could still feel the burn.

“Choosing you doesn’t mean I disown her.” Malcolm shrugs, not subscribing to the logic.

“Sometimes it’s hard to see it that way.”

 _What did she say?_ is on the tip of Malcolm’s tongue, but he keeps it at bay. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” Malcolm says instead.

“Look at you being all empathetic. Giving space.“ Gil smiles, knowing there are questions he must be dying to ask, but isn’t. Somehow, he’s keeping the profiling brain quiet.

“What can I say, I learn from the best.” Malcolm smiles back.

Gil bites into the toast and remembers how they had made their way home. “I have to go get my car.”

“We’ll go get it when you’re ready. I suggest after you’re able to hold that down.” Malcolm points at the slice he’s set back on the plate.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this hungover.” Gil sighs, his stomach turning and head pounding evoking exactly why he doesn’t imbibe so much.

 _After Jackie’s funeral_ comes to mind, but Malcolm bites the reminder on his tongue. “That’s probably a good thing.”

Malcolm’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, pulling his attention away from Gil. “Mo-“

“Where are you? You’re not at the precinct, you’re not at home - “ she rattles, speeding through her words again.

“I’m at Gil’s.” His eyes find the ceiling, looking for some patience in dealing with her after he hasn’t slept at all.

He holds the phone away from his head as she dives into a tirade. Gil’s eyebrows raise, a chuckle going into his coffee.

“Mother, talk to him like an adult. Leave me out of the middle,” Malcolm directs, unsure what she’s said, but getting the gist she's still ticked.

“Who do you think you’re speaking to?” she pauses long enough to retort.

The tone summons memories of being trapped under her thumb. “It’s about to be no one,” Malcolm gives the attitude back.

“Aren’t you witty,” she dismisses. His humor never appears in appropriate places.

“I’m here for you, I’m here for him. I’m not going anywhere.” He sighs, trying to get back to the point of the entire conversation. “Now, why are you calling?”

“Your father’s still threatening putting you in the paper.” With phone calls. At regular intervals. She’d block the man if it wouldn’t land in a disparaging headline.

“Gil and I will handle that.”

“Alright.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Have a good day.” She’s gone as quickly as she had started.

“She seems happy this morning,” Gil comments over his coffee.

“Super rosy.” Malcolm smirks to the ground. “I think you spooked her.”

“An apology is in order.”

“Or maybe an award - congrats - you rattled her cage.” Malcolm smirks at the rare achievement.

Gil’s eyes cut the joke. “Let’s get my car so I can take you home.”

“I can - “

“I need to go talk to your mother, Bright, so that means you’re going home,” Gil stands firm.

“Okay.” He considers the options for a moment. “But only if you come to me after if things don’t go so hot.”

Gil finishes the coffee and brings all of his dishes to the sink. “It’s scary hearing my words come out of your mouth.”

* * *

Luisa is pleasant as always when she answers the door, leading Gil into the living room. “Have some tea.” She presents a tray for him to fix it to his liking. “I’ll be right back.”

“Gil!” Jessica’s overly warm, sharp greeting flashes into his head. She looks at one chair, then another, hands fidgeting, unsure where she should go.

“Sit.” Gil gestures to a chair next to him.

Seated, she fiddles with her own cup of tea. “You smell like the liquor cabinet.”

His body is sweating out the alcohol, and he has dark circles under his eyes and a pinch at his brow to match. “It was a long night.”

“You’re telling me.” Martin’s calls never stopped. He could shove his phone privileges up his ass. She had a wonderful gesture for whoever re-granted them to him.

“I came to apologize,” Gil starts, keeping his hands around his tea.

“For what exactly? Because if my son had actually listened to me, you’d know his name is about to hit the front page, and I need you to work on that.” Her words start to work their way toward swift.

“For last night.” He ducks his head, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jessica. I didn't mean anything more than comfort. I'll be more...self-aware in the future."

"I've seen you do that to my kids a few dozen times,” her voice tips wistful. She tries to brush her reaction under the rug now that they’re face to face. “Silly me - I haven’t been kissed in a long time.” And after all these years, the action still reminds her of a man that continues to ruin their lives.

Gil shakes his head. “Me neither." Kissing a woman isn’t even something he gives his mind space to think about.

“You both are so much to my son.” She looks to the ground, burying her eyes just like Malcolm does sometimes. “He needs you more.”

"Differently, not more,” he corrects. Malcolm didn’t smash his hand to bits because he didn’t love her. Just like, “Jessica - we didn’t take him." He pauses, needing her to know how gut-wrenching her words could be. It'd been a long time since she'd thrown them, but they didn't smart any less. "That _hurt_.“

Does he know what a kiss feels like? How it’s so burned into her brain it bubbles back to the surface? Likely not, but she isn’t about to tell him. Talk about her kids - sure. Her life - they don’t do that. “You probably should have.”

Gil shakes his head in confusion.

”He's _alive_ because of you." A reality that still nips at her ability to feel independent.

"I can't take all the credit." He needs all his digits to count the number of times he’s failed him.

"I can't do anything to help him,” she exclaims in frustration, her hands going into the air. “Absolutely everything is out of my hands."

Gil leans toward her, but keeps his hand on the arm of his chair. “We’re all doing the best we can.” She shakes her head, yet he continues. “Sometimes that means waiting for another one of us to do our part. We’re a family - you’re not in this alone.”

Jessica reaches across to take his hand. “After all these years, everything still leads back to that man.” She doesn’t expect a response - they sit in silence, mulling over words unsaid.

Gil squeezes her hand. “Is there anything at all you need?”

“Go protect my son.” She withdraws, sitting back in her seat.

Gil nods, getting up to see himself out. He makes it across the room when she calls, “Thank you.”

Her thoughts of apology never leave her mouth.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
